


So Kiss Me With Your Mouth Open

by zjofierose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Repressed feels, Teeny bit of angst, all the kissing, all's well that ends well, background sterek, epic makeouts, hobrien week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>...and take your foot off the brake, for Christ's sake!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sterek is going to become canon in the fifth season with a top-secret scene of Derek and Stiles coming to terms with their feelings for each other. This may require a couple rehearsals...</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Kiss Me With Your Mouth Open

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a cute little 1500 word fluff piece, gdi. 
> 
> Written for Hobrien Week, and my first foray into TW RPF. Whee! Many, many thanks to paintedlandsacpe for the swift and thorough late-night beta. <3
> 
> *this is (obviously) a work of fiction. No ridiculously hot actors were harmed in the writing of this piece, nor even forced to kiss. *sigh*

Tyler reads faster than Dylan, so he hits the passage sooner, and looks up just in time to see Dylan's face go pink, his mouth dropping open as his eyes widen, flicking up to meet Tyler's as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and begins to chew on it nervously.   
  
"So, this is why the private meeting."   
  
Dylan drops the script on the table to gesture around  at  the small room,  his spread hands including Tyler seated across from him, Jeff leaning against the wall and watching. Jeff nods encouragingly, his face inscrutable.   
  
"Yeah. Go on, read it through."   
  
Tyler's already skimming again, but Dylan  _ hmms _ and picks the script  back up, thumping his foot restlessly against the leg of the folding table as he reads.   
  
It's a good scene, Tyler thinks- it's quiet, private, but builds on everything from the previous seasons. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't wondered if they were moving this direction- certainly Jeff's teased at it enough- but Tyler'd always felt the jury was really out as to whether the producers would just let them go for it or not.   
  
He reaches the end and waits, letting it sink in. It's unusually restrained for Jeff's writing, but he must've been thinking about it for a long time. He starts to look at it again while he waits for Dylan to finish, trying to see it clinically, objectively. Does it ring true to their characters? Is it something that he and Dylan can make work? They haven't  yet  seen scripts for all of the episodes that will come before this one: this  will be episode seven, and they're only just now filming episode two, but... but he feels like it's all there.   
  
"Well?"   
  
"Uhmm..." Dylan rubs a hand over his mouth, glancing again at Tyler for guidance.   
  
Tyler shrugs. "I think it works. I'm game if Dylan is."   
  
Dylan blinks, then nods firmly, his eyes going back to the printed text as he thinks,  pausing slightly before he answers . "Yeah, me too. It's a natural progression." He flips to the end again, squinting at the page. "Where does it go after this? There'll be five more episodes. What happens?"   
  
Jeff leans his head against the wall, arms crossed. "Well, it's not all written yet, but. Basically, this is a one-off, for a little bit. It happens, then they get swept up in dealing with Peter and everything going on with that.”  He waves a hand absently. “ But, Stiles will save Derek in episode eleven, and they'll have another moment, and then..." He shrugs. "The finale, well, you know. Some tying up of loose ends, some retrospective, but we'll make sure that it's clear they're together, that we're ending the season that way."   
  
Tyler looks at him skeptically. "Really? No going back on it?"   
  
Jeff shakes his head seriously. "No. This is the last season. There'd be no reason to go back on it. I want to give all the characters the best send off possible, and this has been a long time coming. So. We're going to do it." He waits for their nod before continuing. "I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you the need for absolute secrecy around this. We'll be filming this scene separately from the others, in about two weeks, actually. It won't be on the call sheets, and these scripts" he gestures at the stapled papers in their hands "are the only copies other than mine. It'll be a skeleton crew, filming late at night. So." He smiles at them both, clapping them both on the shoulder as he heads for the door. "Keep it  to yourselves ."   
  
\--   
  
He's in his trailer days later, winding down after the latest tense scene between Derek and Malia and Scott. It wasn't too bad, so he's not too sore, just a little stiff as he cools  off , rolling his shoulders absentmindedly as he heats some water on the tiny two-burner stove. There's a knock on the door, quick and firm, so he switches the burner off, goes to pull it open.   
  
"Hey man." Dylan smiles broadly up at him from the steps. "Got a minute?"   
  
Tyler steps aside, holding the door open wordlessly as Dylan pushes past him to snag the lone stool in front of the short bar that divides the mini-kitchen from the mini-living space. Tyler heads back to the stove, clicking the burner back on and stooping to the dorm-sized fridge to get out the eggs. Dylan's fiddling behind him, leaning on the counter  and messing  with a banana that he's  found sitting in the small wire-mesh fruit basket .   
  
Tyler watches him for a minute out of the corner of his eye. Dylan's not a talker like Stiles can be; he's not exactly shy, not with people he knows well, but he's learned to keep more of a lid on it than Stiles has. Dylan's got his tells, though, and they're all on full display right now, one hand turning the banana over and over while the other rubs its way from his chin to his mouth and back again. His fingers are long, but not as spidery as they were three years ago- he holds himself differently, too, less of Stiles' subtle slouch and more honest spread of shoulders and elbows across the dingy formica.   
  
Four eggs into the now-boiling water, carton in the fridge, and Tyler wipes his hands on the floral print dish-towel Melissa loaned him eight months ago before he turns around and faces Dylan, shoves his hands in his pockets.   
  
"What's up?"   
  
Things are not going to end well for that banana, Tyler thinks, watching as Dylan spins it around like a fat yellow boomerang.   
  
"I've been reading over that scene again."   
  
" ' That scene ' ?"   
  
Dylan gives him a look, and Tyler laughs. "Yeah, ok. I just think it's funny that we're tiptoeing around this, but alright. That Scene. You were reading it. And?"   
  
Dylan glares at him for a minute longer, then deflates, the banana coming to a sad stop in front of him. "And I'm a little weirded out, man."   
  
_ Yep _ , Tyler thinks,  _ thought so _ .   
  
"How come? You've done on-screen kissing before." Tyler rolls his shoulder again, turning his head so the muscle pulls in just the right spot to give some relief. "Never kissed a guy?"   
  
Dylan rolls his eyes, rubs at his nose, drums his fingers. "No, actually, I've never kissed a guy, but whatever, I mean, it's gotta be about the same, right?" He shrugs, licks his lips. "I'm weirded out cause it's  _ you _ , man. I've never had to kiss a  _ friend _ on screen before." He grimaces and looks away.   
  
" _ Oh _ , ok." Tyler laughs, flicks a glance at the steadily bubbling water behind him. "In that case..." He leans in fast, grabs Dylan's face firmly between his hands and plants a wet one firmly on his mouth, pulling away fast as Dylan staggers back off the school laughing and wiping at his face with his sleeve.   
  
"Yeeuugh!" Dylan  punches him hard on the arm as Tyler dodges away laughing, catching  Dylan in a loose headlock and scrubbing his knuckles across  his  soft hair while Dylan slaps ineffectively at his arms and back.  Tyler laughs till he's breathless, then lets  him go, watching as he straightens his rumpled shirt and runs his fingers through his hair.  Dylan's trying to glare, but not quit e succeeding, his wide, full mouth twitching up at the corners as he scowls at Tyler.   
  
"C'mon, man, it's just me. What are you worried about?"

Tyler  grins in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion, then  turns back to the stove, prods the eggs with a butter knife. They still need a  minute , he thinks.

"I'm worried it won't be convincing, I guess." He can hear Dylan settling back onto the stool, messing with the poor banana again. "When I've done scenes like this before, it's always been with some hot girl that I didn't know all that well, and sure, it was awkward, but there wasn't some pre-established dynamic to get past, you know? We're bros." Tyler can hear him gesture between them, "we've been friends for years, we even lived together." Dylan sighs. "I want it to be good, you know? But I'm worried we won't sell it right."   
  
Tyler  makes a noncommittal noise , thinking as he clicks the burner off, fishes the eggs out with a spoon, and sets them to dry on the dishtowel. He pours the hot water down the sink drain, and sets the pan on the other burner to cool, wipes his hands on his jeans before turning around and holding his arms open.   
  
"C'mere."   
  
"Umm, I don't know that we need to hug it out, man."   
  
"Just..." Tyler gestures impatiently, "come here."

Dylan's still eyeballing him a little dubiously, but he does as he's told, steps forward into Tyler's arms and wraps himself around Tyler's torso, not bothering to keep any artificial distance. He drops his head to Tyler's shoulder, and Tyler lets himself lean back against the sink, pulling his arms around Dylan's solid form.

“Mmm, god, you're always so fucking  _warm_ .”

Tyler laughs, feeling Dylan relax against him. They've always been pretty touchy with each other, especially back in Atlanta; they all were, Posey and Dylan, Holland and Crystal, everyone was always up in everyone else's personal space. It's lessened some in LA, less of the sort of encapsulated bubble feeling remaining, and more of the intrusions of interviews and paps, and honestly, he's kind of missed it.

“So, the first thing is just to be comfortable, right?” Dylan nods against his shirt. “That shouldn't be that hard. We're used to each other. Maybe not used to that particular version of each other, but still. We're good.” He runs a hand over Dylan's shoulders, shifts his back against the sink. Dylan goes with him, pliant and heavy.

“Yeah. Yeah, we're good.” Dylan sounds content, and Tyler wants to laugh at how quickly he gives in, gives up. “Have you?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you kissed a guy before?”

Tyler shrugs. “Sure.”

Dylan hauls back suddenly so he can see Tyler's face, his expression surprised. “Really? When? Who?”

Tyler can feel his cheeks starting to heat, but keeps his face neutral. He doesn't really talk about his personal life much, but he forgets that people don't just automatically know everything about him. He feels like such an open book, it catches him off guard when people are surprised by him.

“Um, in college. One of my teammates had a gay brother who would come to our parties sometimes.” He looks down at Dylan's arms where they're still wrapped around him. “He was nice.”

Dylan's mouth is open. “So....you're what, are you bi? How did I not know this about you?”

Tyler frowns, kind of wishing he'd never brought it up. He wants to pull his arms back, turn around. “No, I'm not anything. I'm just me. I like who I like, and I liked Nate. He was friendly, and attractive, and making out with him seemed like fun, so I did it, and it was. There's not really anything more to it than that.”

“...huh.” Dylan studies his face for a long moment, then slumps against him again, and Tyler releases a deep breath, letting himself relax back into the weight of the body against him.

“What's it like?” Dylan's voice is muffled by Tyler's shoulder, and starting to sound sleepy. It is late, he supposes- his body clock's always so off with shooting that he barely knows if he's coming or going, but it must be after one in the morning at this point.

“Like kissing anyone, really. I mean. He was my height, which was different, mostly women are shorter. So, there's that. Stubble, I suppose, but Nate was really pale, and very clean-shaven, so I didn't really notice it much.” He thinks for a minute. “I mean, we were nineteen, it wasn't like either of us were necessarily masters of finesse. We were kinda drunk, and into each other, so... that was that.” He can feel Dylan laughing against him, his chest vibrating as he tries to keep it quiet. “What?”

“ _Masters of finesse_ , only you Hoechlin.” Dylan snickers some more, then subsides. A moment passes, then another, and Dylan's quiet long enough that Tyler thinks he might have fallen asleep. He does this, sometimes, just passes out wherever he is, mouth open and limbs akimbo. He's probably drooling.

“Can we try it?”

“Hmm?”

“So it's not the first time in front of the cameras. Can we try it?”

Tyler feels his heart thud hard in his chest, but keeps his body still.

“Sure, if you want to.”

“Yeah.”

Tyler waits. Nothing happens, so he drags his hand up to prod at the back of Dylan's skull where it rests near his chin.

“You have to wake up and come here if you want to do this, idiot.”

“Picky, picky...” Dylan raises his head. His face has lines from the fabric of Tyler's shirt, his eyes are owlish and sleepy, and he licks his lips without thinking as his gaze drops to Tyler's mouth. He's stupidly attractive, and Tyler really doesn't want to think about that, so he takes Dylan's chin in his fingers and pulls him in.

It's sweet, and careful, and a little weird because it's been so long since he's done this with someone he didn't have to lean down for, with someone whose shoulders bump into his as they navigate around each others' space. Dylan's mouth is warm and full, his lips damp where he licked them, and he presses in, kissing back with an authority that takes Tyler a little by surprise. It shouldn't; when Dylan commits, he  _commits_ , and Tyler knows that, but everything about this is kind of surreal, so he just lets go of any further expectations and turns himself over to the moment, letting his fingers slide up to hold the back of Dylan's neck as Dylan gets a hand on his arm and pulls him closer.

It's... good. It's remarkably good, and it only gets better when Dylan opens Tyler's mouth with a breath and his tongue, tipping his head so he can pull his nose along Tyler's cheek, mouth open and searching. He finds Tyler again and again, tasting eagerly, his grip on Tyler's arm growing stronger as he presses him harder against the sink, tongue sliding into his mouth, teeth catching and pulling on Tyler's bottom lip as Dylan tips his head to push back in from a better angle. The edge of counter behind him bites into a lower vertebrae and Tyler shifts awkwardly, making Dylan start to pull back, but Tyler chases him unthinkingly, one hand at his nape, the other somehow clutching at his hip, until they're together again, mouths moving against each other in a give and take.

It's a slow burn kiss, nothing urgent or driven or pressured about it. It's a kiss about pleasure, about the push/pull of mouths, the secret knowledge of tongues, the promises of  _more_ and  _soon_ and  _no hurry_ and  _god_ . It's the kiss you give a not-yet lover, pulling them in as the sun goes down, leisurely and filthy and full of heat. It's quite possibly the best kiss Tyler's ever had, if he's being honest, and he makes an embarrassingly bereft sound as Dylan finally pulls back after... minutes, hours, days, he really can't say.

Tyler lets his hands fall, resists the urge to pull Dylan back and never let go, to kiss him till he's rumpled and pleading, and then to kiss him some more. There's color in Dylan's cheeks, those abstract bursts of pink he gets below his cheekbones that match the rough color of his mouth. He smiles, but his eyes are still round.

“Thanks, man. I feel a lot better now, I'm just gonna...” He jerks a thumb toward the door. “I've got call in six hours, so, I'm gonna go lay down. Thanks!”

Tyler smiles back. “Yeah, get some rest.” He raises his hand, gives a limp wave as Dylan heads for the door. “See you!”

“Yeah, catch you later, man!”

The door bangs shut, and Tyler lets his legs fold, sliding down till he's sitting on the floor in front of the sink, hidden by the cupboards under the counter from the rest of the room. He exhales slowly, staring at his knees.

_Well. Shit_ .

–

He'd kind of had a thing for Dylan, for a while. It wasn't all that secret, even if no one directly mentioned it- he may be an actor, but when he's himself he can't keep his stupid emotions off his stupid face. But Dylan was nineteen and brand new to everything, full of joy and energy and excitement when they met, and it was intoxicating to be around him. Living with him and Posey was a laugh a minute, even when they were all exhausted, piled against each other on the couch watching a movie, and Tyler couldn't help but be taken in by it all.

At first it was just Dylan's charisma- he was smart and funny, and he and Posey had kind of a hero worship thing going on with Tyler for a while that he didn't really know how to take other than to laugh it off and go about his business. He's not sure when he realized that Dylan was actually really kind of hot, but once seen it couldn't be unseen, which was... frustrating, at times. The thing is, he genuinely really  _likes_ Stiles, and the same with Dylan, and by the time he realized exactly how much that was showing, it was too late, so he just let it go. No one ever called him on it, and Dylan never seemed to notice, so.

Because whatever Tyler himself is, Dylan seems straight. He politely ogles Holland and Crystal and Gage, he has his on-again off-again girlfriend, he checks out girls on the street. Yeah, Derek and Stiles have good chemistry, but really it's just because he and Dylan get along so well, and because they both like their characters so much. He's first embarrassed, then amused, then tickled by the whole “Sterek” thing, but that's all just fantasy. Dylan is straight, significantly younger, and his good friend. The end.

That is to say, he's surprised two days later when the door to his trailer bangs open and Dylan wanders in, hands in his pockets and shoulders thrown back.

“We need to do it again.”

“...what?” Tyler shuffles around from where he's standing next to his closet, shutting the door and turning to face him. He furrows his brow in confusion. He'd been pretty sure they'd finished the last scene well, and it'd been at least an hour since they wrapped. “We're getting called back?”

Dylan rolls his eyes, gestures sharply with his hands between them.

“No, the kissing. We need to do it again.”

Dylan looks a little harried, but Tyler can feel his mouth hanging open unattractively, so he shuts it. _Not catching flies, Ty_ , his brother says in his head.

“Um. We do?”

“Yeah.” Dylan steps forward purposely. “Last time was...” he pauses, rubbing at his nose with two fingers, then dropping them to his mouth. “It wasn't the same sort of thing that's in the script.”

Tyler's pretty sure that he's covering his sudden case of nerves well, but he takes a second to think  _calm_ , and  _collected_ , quietly to himself before he responds.

“Yeah, I guess that's true. So, what, you want to try it like it is in the script?”

Dylan nods, pressing forward again until he's within arm's reach, his expression determined, but slightly relieved. “Yeah, so, just...” He reaches out, gets a hand in Tyler's belt loops.

“How does it go in the script? Who starts?”

“I do. I mean, Stiles does. He, uh, yeah. He initiates it.”

Tyler doesn't know what he's thinking, every single self-preservation instinct he's ever had must have deserted him completely, because he goes, willingly, the second Dylan pulls him forward.

“Well. Go on, then.”

Dylan grins, quicksilver, rising to the implicit dare.

The first one is awful. The second, if possible, is worse. They can't get the angle right, and bonk foreheads when they both try to correct for it. He can tell that Dylan's thrown by the fact that their faces are the same height; he keeps trying to tip Tyler's head back in a way that hurts his neck, and neither of them seem to know what the hell to do with their hands. They persevere for a minute, but after the second time Dylan clips him painfully with his teeth Tyler pulls back and gets his hands on Dylan's shoulders, pushing back to get some space between them. _More_ space, he thinks mournfully; they never even got close enough to really touch with anything other than their faces.

"Ok. No, stop." Dylan looks aggrieved, equal parts disappointed and defensive. "No, wait. That was... well, I don't know what that was, but we're going to just never speak of it again." Tyler lets go of Dylan's shirt front, and Dylan nods glumly.

"Sorry, man. I just..."

"Nope." Tyler holds up a hand, and Dylan chuckles. "Never speaking of it again." He steps away from the closet and heads for the small and battered couch in the main area. "We're gonna try this once more, if you want to?" Dylan pauses, then nods. "Ok. This time, less diving in and more actual idea of what needs to happen."

"Yeah, ok." Dylan flings himself onto the sofa, sprawling over the whole thing. "So, alright. The background of this is a basic slow build." He throws his head back onto the arm and gets a hand into the front of his hair as he talks. "At some point, Derek and Stiles started liking each other, and things just didn't happen for... a long time. Complicating factors." He waves a hand absently, and Tyler laughs at the casual dismissal of Peter, and Kate, and the nogitsune, the darach, the kanima.  _Complicating factors_ , yeah, that's one way to put it.

"Right. So, even after they may have individually realized their value to each other, the timing wasn't right, the circumstances were..."

"Fucked." Dylan pulls his head up and grins.

"Yeah, pretty much. The circumstances were fucked." Tyler's starting to feel a little calmer now that they're talking through this. He's a boring kind of guy, mostly, and being ambushed via the mouth by his too-attractive friend had really thrown him off his game.  _It's Dylan_ , he tells himself,  _it's just Dylan. You can do this_ .

"So this is a long time coming. What are they feeling here? Relief? Happiness?"

"Hmm. Yeah, relief. Happiness might come into it, but probably not right at the first moment. Inevitability, maybe? Fate?"

Dylan laughs. "You're such a sap, man." His eyes are warm and delighted. "Yeah, ok. Relief and fate."

Tyler rolls his eyes. "You're gonna have to pretend to be attracted to me, too, you know- this can't be just be a quick _I like you_ peck."

Dylan stands up, long limbs rearranging themselves as he takes a step forward, giving Tyler a funny look.

"Ty, the only people who aren't attracted to you are dead, dude."

Tyler laughs, short and quick, because he doesn't know what else to do with that. "Uh. Thanks?" He doesn't know what to do with his hands again, so he perches on the stool behind him. "So, I think Derek's sitting, and you come in, and then they talk, and then..."

"Yeah. Then I just..." Dylan steps forward until he's standing in the space between Tyler's knees, warm and close. Tyler forces his traitorous heart down, and puts a hand on Dylan's waist. He can see that Dylan's slipping, not quite into character, but the gears are turning, the analysis burning through his brain as he contemplates his next move.

"Wait." Dylan pauses, looking at him questioningly. "You're over-thinking. I can see it in your face. Just..." Tyler sighs, grips Dylan's hip more firmly, rubs his thumb soothingly back and forth against the edge of Dylan's shirt. "Just, close your eyes.”

With his eyes closed, Dylan looks younger again, long eyelashes lying against his pale cheeks, the line of his jaw merging seamlessly into his neck. Tyler lets his hand float up to hover over the curve of Dylan's collar bone where it flows out from under the neck of his shirt.

“You've liked me for a long time.” He keeps his voice quiet, steady. “Maybe you didn't at first, but we grew on each other, we became friends. You're not sure when it became more, but it did, and it's just been building ever since.” Dylan nods, his face going slack as he lets Tyler's words sink in. “You've been trying to decide when to make a move, waiting to see what I would do, but then circumstance pushed your hand.” Tyler gets to his feet slowly, letting Dylan feel him closing in tight. Dylan raises one hand to curl around Tyler's upper arm, wide-palmed and warm, his eyes still closed as he listens. “You don't know what my reaction will be, but you don't  _care_ anymore, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that we could be together, and you don't know how to live without acting on that possibility anymore.” Tyler lets his voice trail to a stop, their breath echoing steadily in the silence.

Dylan opens his eyes, and Tyler has no idea what expression he makes, because the look on Dylan's face is the most incredible thing he's ever seen. He feels literally weak at the knees, but he barely has a moment to process the thought before Dylan's catching his face between both of his long-fingered hands, cradling it like a precious thing as his warm eyes trace the outlines of Tyler's face. Dylan takes one long, slow breath, and then his hands are drawing Tyler to him, sliding their mouths together at just the right angle, and oh.  _Oh_ . This is everything the first kiss was and more, because this time Dylan is fully awake and intent, and Tyler wants to forswear everything else in his life just to stay in this moment where Dylan's tongue is flickering over the seam of his mouth, where they both gasp as Tyler opens like a compulsion to Dylan's questioning slide.

Dylan's hands slip to the back of his head, one thumb stroking along his jaw while the other follows the run of the tendons up the back of his neck. Tyler's somehow gotten a hand under the edge of Dylan's shirt, and Dylan shivers as Tyler presses two fingers around the curve of Dylan's hip to hook in the edge of his waistband. That shiver gives Tyler courage, lets him wind his arm all the way around Dylan's torso, pulling them flush together from knees to neck. Dylan makes way for him like sand for the tide, pulling back just enough for Tyler to surge forward, pressing his way into Dylan's mouth to search out and fill every empty spot within him. Dylan moans, and Tyler grips him tighter, clutching the back of Dylan's shirt because he can't possibly let go, can't do anything other than kiss Dylan so deep he shudders again.

They ebb and flow against each other, lips and hands and tongues, establishing a rhythm that crests between them and then breaks, gentling down into a leisurely back and forth of opened mouths and shared breaths, Dylan's hands rubbing into his neck and the small of his back, one thumb stroking small circles in front of his left ear. Tyler bites at the corner of Dylan's lips and Dylan laughs into his mouth, pinching him on the ribs as Tyler presses a kiss to the same spot, cradling Dylan's face in his palm. They can't seem to pull away, drawing back in again and again for soft closed-mouth presses, eyes shut and bodies close.

It's a moment before Tyler starts to come to his senses, realizes that they are way, way,  _way_ past what will be required from them in the scene. He doesn't want to make it awkward, doesn't want to stop at  _all_ , actually, but he forces himself to put longer seconds between touches of their mouths and eventually they're simply standing, forehead to forehead, and breathing.

It's the most intimate thing he's done with anyone in a good long while, and it's breaking him to know that it's acting, that he has to let go of the warm and willing body under his hands, that he has to remember that this is his friend, his good friend, not... anything else. It's thank goodness for small mercies, he thinks, that Dylan does not seem completely unaffected. It gives Tyler the time to compose himself before he pulls back and smiles, clapping Dylan on the shoulder.

“Better?”

Dylan blinks at him, his face flushed and his mouth obscenely red. “...yeah. Yeah, thanks. That's... yeah. Better.” He shakes his head once, twice, his face settling into neutral as he looks around the small space, anywhere but at Tyler. “Well. I'll just... leave you to it then.” He smiles, but it's too bright, too wide, and it hurts to have that directed at him. “I'll catch you later, man!” He nods, grips Tyler's shoulder briefly, then he's gone in a flurry of hoodie and tennis shoes.

Tyler shuts the door behind him and bangs his head against the wall three times for good measure.

\--

The set is almost empty. Jeff's there, and two camera guys, Russell, and Dylan and Tyler, no one else. It's about two in the morning on a Wednesday, and as far as anyone else knows, they're all asleep in their beds, getting some rest before call tomorrow. The scene isn't a long one- they'd talked through the intro with Jeff a couple days ago, and filmed the opening three times now. They're finally ready to film the end, picking up the end of the conversation and finishing out the scene.

It goes like this- Peter has just revealed himself to be behind the kidnappings and deaths, and has endangered Stiles and Kira, leaving them to be saved at the last minute by Scott. Derek confronts Peter and is injured by him, then disappears in the aftermath to return to the loft and lick his wounds in private, wallowing in guilt and betrayal, afraid that his very existence is bringing yet more horrible things down on his pack.

Stiles comes to find him.

They fight, hard and tense and low- Stiles berates him for his willingness to turn tail and run, Derek accuses him of not knowing when he's beaten, when to quit, tells him to leave. Stiles shouts at him some more about having his head too far up his ass to know when he's wanted, when he's needed, about the ultimate egoism of his willingness to self-sacrifice. Derek turns his back and goes silent.

“Derek.”

“ _Stop_ , Stiles. Just... stop.” Tyler folds his arms, stares out the loft window. “I know you think you're helping, but I don't want your pity.”

There's a pause from over his shoulder, and then he's being spun around by a strong hand on his arm, being forced to face Stiles, feeling on his face a terrible play of fury and anguish and heartbreak. Dylan's eyes are luminous and glowing in the dim set lights, and Tyler's heart is in his throat at the sight.

“Pity?  _Pity_ ? You think that's what this is?” Dylan's got his hand tight on Tyler's arm, and Tyler can feel him shaking with rage and upset. “You complete  _ass_ , Derek Hale, I don't  _pity_ you, I...” Tyler opens his mouth to deny, to reply, but he's too slow to get anything out before Dylan's got his face in his large, strong hands and is kissing the life out of him, deep and desperate and hard. He gives in instantly, his hands coming up to grasp at Dylan's waist, hauling him tight to his front, winding his arms around Stile's blood-soaked flannel shirt, flinching as Dylan moans at Derek's touch on his bandaged ribs, but not pausing or breaking away. Dylan's tongue is in his mouth and the pull between them is magnetic, tidal in Tyler's blood, making his heart race, making him whine unhappily when Dylan breaks them apart, still holding Tyler's face in his hands and pressing their faces together as they draw in heaving breaths. He can feel Dylan blink against him where they're pushed eye socket to eyebrow, can feel Dylan's finger tracing across his cheekbone.

“God,  _Derek_ ...”

It's like a bucket of cold water.

“Yeah.” Tyler runs a hand over Stiles' back. “Yeah, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Silence holds for a moment, then Jeff says, “Cut,” into the quiet, and they step away slowly, not looking at each other. Jeff's quiet for a moment longer, and Tyler hopes desperately that he won't say anything, won't comment on how Tyler's still-beating heart is so clearly affixed to his sleeve. He doesn't, though, just rubs his chin and says “Well done, boys. I think that's a wrap,” and lets them go.

–-

He makes it outside the building without having to talk to anyone; he'd grabbed his jacket and water bottle and hoofed it, not waiting to see if Jeff wanted to talk to them, not waiting for Dylan to catch up.

_Dylan_ .

He has to stop and breathe for a moment, closing his eyes and trying as hard as he can to wipe the images of Dylan's face, open and vulnerable and  wanting , from his mind. He doesn't know how he's going to manage, how they're going to go on after this. He'd managed to set it all beside before, but that's because he hadn't known what he was missing. But now, having had Dylan so close to him, worse, having Dylan act like he  _wanted_ to be so close to him... he just doesn't know what he's going to do.

There's the sound of running feet from behind, and a body slams into him, shoving him against the nearest wall. Tyler coughs, the air knocked out of him, and stares confusedly at the pissed off Dylan who's currently pinning him by the shoulders to the bricks at his back. Dylan looks at him for a moment, then groans.

“ _God_ , you complete  _moron_ .”

Tyler opens his mouth to object, but then Dylan has surged forward and is kissing him, rough, messy, and oh so good, and Tyler thinks, oh, and  _oh_ , and loses the thread of objection in favor of pulling Dylan into his arms and kissing him back.

 

 


End file.
